Life and Times of a Tortured Soul
by the classicist
Summary: A series of one-shots, charting the life of Guy of Gisborne, beginning with the fire that killed his parents, ending with his death and featuring just about everything in between! Guy/Marian, Guy/Meg... FINALLY UPDATED!
1. Fire

**Cast of Characters**

**Guy of Gisborne – **Anti-hero

**Isabella of Gisborne – **Anti-hero's sister; owner of some over-active tear ducts

**Lady Ghislaine of Gisborne –** Mother of the above

**Sir Roger of Gisborne –** Antihero's father; leper and welcome sight

**Lord Malcolm of Locksley –** Usurper of the above and would-be rescuer

**Bailiff Longthorn – **Vindictive commoner with a taste for arson

**Swain –** Well-meaning village priest

**Robin of Locksley –** Loud-mouthed brat

**Year:** 1174

**Setting: **Gisborne Manor, its surrounds and Sherwood Forest

**Scenario:** The fire that destroys Guy's home

"Guy! Guy, come here for a moment!" Ghislaine of Gisborne's summons would usually have brought her seventeen-year-old son running but today he did not move an inch from his comfortable position under the oak tree outside. _Let her yell_, Guy thought rebelliously, pretending he did not hear. _She's got no right to order me around, not when she's about to hand us all over to _**him**_!_ Instead of rising, Guy wormed his way deeper into the hollow made between two of the roots, staring with a surly expression at the villagers going by outside the manor fence. His argument with his father at the leper colony was still ringing in his ears – why had Roger allowed Malcolm to do what he had done? Didn't he care_** anything**_ for his wife and children? "Guy!" The voice was closer now, and clearly more harassed. Looking up reluctantly, Guy saw his mother standing at the manor door. Her dark curls were pinned up under the veil she wore for riding and her green skirts were an inch deep in mud. A frown marred her usually smiling face as she surveyed her errant offspring.

Mentally shrugging, Guy rose and walked nonchalantly towards Ghislaine, taking a sort of savage pleasure in the gradual darkening of her expression with every second that passed. He stopped before her, staring over her head. "Guy," she snapped. "Sit with Isabella whilst I change. The fields were muddy today – I can't go to Locksley like this." A groan escaped her son even before she'd finished speaking – his meaning was clear. There was nothing Guy hated more than minding his younger sister. His mother laid a hand on his shoulder. "Please," she said, more gently. "We're dining at Locksley tonight, and I haven't much time..."

The repetition of "Locksley" distracted Guy for a moment. "Locksley? After what he did to Father? I'll hold my tongue about you and Locksley, Mother, but you can't expect me to sit down to dinner with that man!" he hissed, almost disbelieving. Ghislaine passed a hand briefly over her face. "Guy, please. Your father would expect you to behave like the nobleman we raised you to be. So – you will dine with Malcolm tonight, yes?" she almost pleaded. Guy scowled. He could easily rebel against any of her curt orders, but when his mother asked him, so gently, to do something... Guy jerked his head in the vague semblance of a nod and Ghislaine sighed in relief. "Thank you, _cherie_." She walked inside and headed straight for the stairs. Guy turned into the sitting room instead, where Isabella was amusing herself by the fire with a wooden doll. As he grew closer, Guy was hit with a powerful memory. Roger had given that doll to Isabella before he had left for the Crusades, when she had been just an infant...

The door opened audibly behind him and Guy turned – perhaps it was his mother's maid, returning from an errand. Instead, the person in the door was tall, and swathed in a long grey-brown cloak. Sir Roger of Gisborne hesitated in the doorway, looking from his son to his daughter nervously. Noticing him, Isabella's face lit up. "Papa!" she squealed, and flung herself forwards to hug her father. Roger swept her up in his arms, beaming. Guy hung back, remembering the last time he had been this close to his father. Was Roger angry? It was difficult to tell, when he was standing there, laughing at something his daughter had just said. Then he looked up, meeting his son's eyes with what Guy was surprised to recognise as pride and... respect. "Where is your mother? I must speak with her," he asked Guy, his tone serious despite the evident joy on his face. Wordlessly, Guy gestured up the wooden staircase. "Father..." he began, intending to apologise, but Roger shook his head. "Enough of that, lad. You were right. It's going to be alright now," he reassured his son, extending his hand. Guy gripped it gratefully, feeling the weight of responsibility fall from his already broad shoulders.

Roger set Isabella on her feet once more, and headed upstairs, taking them two at a time in his old way. Grinning, Guy led his sister to a seat by the fire. _It was going to be alright_. His father had made a promise to him – and Roger _**never**_ broke promises. "Has Papa come back forever?" asked Isabella, wonderment still evident in her voice. Guy nodded vigorously. "Yes. He's going to take us all away, I know it – to France, maybe, where Uncle Gervais is. And we can all live together – no Locksley, no interfering Bailiff Longthorn; just you and me and Mother and Father. Just think, Belle." It was a mark of how happy Guy was that he used his sister's nickname – usually he avoided calling her anything, avoided even speaking to her.

But Fate intended Guy to enjoy his bliss for only a few precious minutes. The door suddenly burst open, revealing the last person Guy of Gisborne wanted to see. Malcolm of Locksley. "Where is he?" Malcolm demanded harshly of Guy, looking around. Guy rose angrily – what rights did Locksley have here? He would force him to know his worthlessness! Looking around, Guy caught sight of a log, half-burning in the fire. Catching it up, he raised it, ready to strike. A flicker of uncertainty appeared in Malcolm's eyes, but he ordered coolly, "Out of my way, boy."

Guy scowled. _**Boy?**_ He was a man grown – able to defend his father. "No! Not after what you did to my father!" he gritted, and lunged at Locksley, brandishing his makeshift weapon. Locksley's reflexes took him backwards, out of harm's way, but Guy swiped again. Malcolm ducked smoothly, and came up under the swing, grappling with Guy. Guy felt himself be thrown away, catching the edge of the table in his stomach. The torch flew from his grasp, grazing along the wood and setting fire to it.

Time seemed to freeze. Guy, Malcolm and Isabella stared, mesmerized, as the flames licked up the walls quickly. Locksley was the first to snap out of his stupor. "Get out! Get out! Get your sister out of here!" he ordered urgently, a note of panic creeping into his deep voice. Guy didn't wait to argue – seizing Isabella's hand, he sprinted outside.

The whole village seemed to be gathered there. So Locksley hadn't been man enough to do the job alone? Bailiff Longthorn was at the front of the crowd, bearing several large flaming torches. He appeared to be making some sort of speech, and as Guy and Isabella neared the group, Guy heard, Longthorn say, very distinctly, "Look! Sir Malcolm is burning the place!" Guy's ice-blue eyes widened in shock – surely this didn't mean what he thought it meant? "No!" he protested, "It was an accident!" If they set fire to the manor, Ghislaine and Roger could easily get trapped... But Longthorn wasn't listening. "It's the only way to get rid of the disease," he continued matter-of-factly, handing out his torches.

"No!" Guy pleaded. "You're wrong, don't do this!" The village priest moved forwards now, believing Guy. He looked highly disapproving, and for once Guy was glad to see him. "Stop! Stop!" he shouted, trying to imbue his voice with the same commanding texture it had on a Sunday, when he preached to his flock in Locksley Church. But the crowd was wild now and far beyond Swain's ability to reason with them. They moved forwards as one, and soon Gisborne Manor was dotted with the flicker of flames, nestling into its walls and roof. "Wait!" cried a smaller voice from behind Guy. "My father's inside! No! No!" Robin of Locksley had arrived, and was now fighting against Swain's arms to get to the burning building.

The fire had taken hold quickly, hungrily devouring all the fuel in sight. The smoke clogged Guy's mouth and nose and bit fiercely at his eyes, as he clung to Isabella. She was weeping, but thankfully she did not resist his arms. "Let me go!" Robin demanded wildly. "My father's inside!" Swain was having difficulty holding his charge back now, and Robin easily twisted himself around to glare over Swain's shoulder at Guy. "Yours too!" he reminded Guy harshly. "And your mother! Do something!" _If only it were that simple_, Guy thought. Cowardice locked him in place, watching his home turn into a beacon that would light the countryside for several hours to come. _Father promised it would be alright. He doesn't break his promises! He'll get her out. He promised, he promised, he promised..._ Guy told himself, his words becoming a solemn, childish mantra as around him, hell rose up.

Isabella's wails, the crackle and hiss of the flames, the fog of choking, burning smoke... everything seemed to have been conjured from his worst nightmares. And Roger never came. Ghislaine never emerged, an unneeded apology for worrying her children forming on her lips. No one came.

*

At last the fire died away, leaving a broken shell where once there was a home. Shattered souls where once there were lives. Longthorn and some of the village men went inside Gisborne Manor then, to search for bodies. Guy knew he should have offered to go, too, but he couldn't bear the thought of coming across the corpse of one of his parents, of being forced to try and identify which of them it was... The men returned empty-handed. The bailiff approached the small group of four – the children and Swain – forcing a look of insincere concern on his features. "Children, we've searched what is left of Gisborne Manor. Your parents... there's nothing left." Guy felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. They couldn't be _**dead**_. That was impossible. Unthinkable. Unreal. Isabella shook in Guy's arms, her tears soaking into his tunic. Anger welled up in Guy, burning out his grief. "You killed them!" he accused Longthorn. "All of you – you murdered them."

Longthorn sneered, and shook his head. "You started the fire, boy," he smirked coldly. Guy flinched, as he realised the truth of Longthorn's words. _It's my fault. They're dead because I couldn't keep my temper. It's my fault_, Guy reflected morbidly. Bowing his head, he turned away. He could stay here and watch these people sneering at him, despising him, or worst of all, _**pitying**_him. Isabella followed, guided by Guy's hand on her back, her face a glittering mask of tears.

*

Much later, Guy returned. It was dark now, but Guy could have guided himself back home in his sleep – as he often had, after a hunt or ride. Isabella was still crying, but silently now, and Guy bid her to wait for him under the oak tree he had rested under in a different lifetime. He had to do this alone.

Gisborne Manor was barely recognisable as the home Guy had left just a few short hours ago. Everything had been blackened by the flames that had killed half of its occupants. Guy ran a hand along one of the collapsed beams as he entered, only to have it collapse into ash at his feet. Yet another sign that he was evil. He destroyed things, he was bad luck...

Tears threatened to overwhelm him, and Guy moved on. This was no random visit to his old home. He knew exactly what he was looking for. In the corner of the sitting room, there was a loose flagstone, which, when lifted, provided a deep and protected hiding place for valuables. Ten months ago, when the herald had come from the Holy Land, announcing the supposed death of Guy's father, Ghislaine had removed any jewellery that reminded her of her husband and hidden it there. Guy had seen her do it, even though she hadn't seen him. It would still be there, if it hadn't been ruined by the flames.

Kneeling, Guy brushed away the ash and bits of charred wood that covered the floor, before levering up the heavy flagstone and setting it aside. Beneath it lay the few trinkets Guy had hoped to find – a necklace or two, the flimsy, silvery riding girdle Roger had bought as a birthday gift for Ghislaine, a pair of earrings for Isabella's birth. And a single ring. Silver, and set with a twist of precious stones. Guy exhaled slowly as he pulled it out. The engagement ring. When Roger had been away at war, Ghislaine had often told him and Isabella the tale of how she and Roger had met and become betrothed, and then married. And this ring had always appeared at the right moment, from the chain Ghislaine wore it on around her neck.

Guy rose, not bothering to recover the hole. Carefully placing his prizes into his belt purse, he returned to Isabella.

*

The next day, the silversmith at Nottingham bought several items from a young man heading for France with his sister. Two necklaces, and a riding girdle.


	2. Thornton

**Cast of Characters**

**Guy of Gisborne – **Orphaned anti-hero; on the lookout for a job

**Isabella of Gisborne – **His sister; a bargaining chip

**Squire Thornton – **Guy's lifeline; a man with ulterior motives

**Year: **1177

**Setting: **A tavern in Aquitaine, France

**Scenario: **Guy's meeting with Squire Thornton and its results

"Squire Thornton, I presume?" The voice was deep, masculine and firm, sounding clearly above the usual tavern din. Thornton inclined his head, and surveyed the young man before him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with the slightly hard-bitten look of a man who has suffered too much, too young. His dark hair was quivering on the borderline of short and long, and often fell into his ice-blue eyes.

"You must be Guy of Gisborne," Thornton said at last, pointing lazily to a chair opposite him. Guy took it, relieved to have arrived at the right place. This opportunity was better than anything he'd heard of in months – no longer would the Gisbornes be penniless orphans. He would have status, power...

The man in front of him was not French, as most of the tavern's occupants were, but English, like Guy – a nobleman, and a good friend of a certain Lord Durham. This friendship was the reason Guy had walked five miles into town and spent his penultimate shilling on a new shirt. It just so happened that Lord Durham was looking for a new master-at-arms, and as Thornton had Durham's ear... But Guy was not as forward as this would perhaps make him seem. His own uncle, just as penniless as he was (save a tiny struggling estate in the backwaters of Aquitaine), knew Thornton – and knew him well at that. If Guy could use his uncle's influence to persuade Thornton, the position was as good as his.

It was not the first time Guy's uncle had been useful to him. When his sister's children had arrived in France nearly three years ago, Gervais had offered them what shelter and assistance he could – even taking them into his own home, despite his own financial situation. But Guy was a full-grown man now, and he could no longer bear to beg from his uncle. Isabella would be provided for by a Gisborne man once more, and Guy would be independent. If he could persuade Thornton.

"Why did you want to speak to me, Gisborne?" asked Thornton bluntly, draining his tankard of ale, and calling for another. Guy shifted in his seat, uncomfortable in both his new clothing and Thornton's company. He was not used to the language of politics and business – even the art of basic genteel conversation had always eluded him – and he could tell that the meeting wasn't going to be easy. "My uncle heard from an acquaintance that Lord Durham was looking for a master-at-arms, back in England. He assured me that you would not be – unwilling – to speak to his Lordship on my behalf," Guy replied smoothly, reeling off the speech his uncle had rehearsed with him.

Thornton stared at him impassively for moment, and then commented, "You don't look old enough to be a master-at-arms." Guy fought to keep his face neutral – if he hated anything, it was snide comments about his youth and implied inexperience. In the last three years, he had faced more trials and troubles than Lord Durham, or Thornton for that matter, probably had in their whole lives! "I am twenty, sir, and I learn fast," he explained flatly.

Thornton looked like he was about to reply scathingly, but he didn't get the chance. A young girl approached the table, smiling brightly. Guy groaned audibly. Isabella. Would he never earn her obedience? His sister had largely been a milestone around his neck from the moment their parents had died. Too young and weak to be of any use to her older brother, Isabella was the bane of Guy's life. "Guy, have you got - ?" she started to ask in French, but Guy rose before she got any further. "My sister, Squire Thornton. Please excuse me," he explained heavily, catching Isabella's upper arm in a vice-like grip.

Dragging her away into a corner, Guy hissed angrily, "Isabella, I told you to wait outside! Must you always disobey me?" Isabella's customary smile vanished instantly, and Guy saw the glint of fear in her eyes. Suddenly, he felt inexplicably ashamed of himself. His mother had never frightened them, nor struck them – and Guy had only ever been beaten by his father once, after he had stolen some apples from a neighbouring orchard as a child. They would not approve of the treatment he was giving Isabella now, and Guy knew it. Sighing, he released her gently and passed a hand across his face. "What did you want?" he asked her wearily.

"A shilling for a hot pie – I'm so hungry," his sister whined, looking at him pleadingly. Guy shook his head in disapproval – wasn't she always? – but dug his hand into his belt purse, searching through the little money he kept there. At last he drew out a very old, very thin coin and flicked it to Isabella. She caught it deftly and kissed his cheek before ducking outside. When he returned to the table, Thornton, who had watched the exchange closely, was smirking slightly.

"I didn't know you had a sister, Gisborne," he sneered as Guy reclaimed his seat. Guy shrugged. "She's much younger – I try to keep her out of my business dealings," he retorted, with an air of finality. "Will you speak to my lord Durham for me or not?" Thornton laughed shortly at Guy's directness, and replied, "I believe I will. You know Gisborne, living in England and supporting yourself on a master-at-arms' income will be difficult. I could help you there, my friend."

Guy raised his eyebrows, intrigued by Thornton's offer. He had what he wanted – anything else would be a bonus. "How?" he asked breathlessly, leaning forwards. Undoubtedly Thornton would want something in return – but what did it matter when he would soon have position, a place in society and money in his pocket? "I could give you some money. Call it a business deal, if you will," Thornton proposed lazily. "How old _**is**_ your sister, Gisborne? And her name?"

Absently, Guy answered, "Isabella's thirteen, fourteen in a few months." Then, as the realisation of what Thornton was asking for sunk in, he murmured, "You want her." Thornton nodded, a small chuckle escaping from between his lips. "You have quicker wits than I would have given you credit for, my friend. For your pretty little sister as my wife, I'll give you seven hundred crowns. Think, Gisborne. You get your place with Lord Durham, I get a beautiful bride."

Sitting back in his chair, Guy glanced about him. Somewhere deep inside, there was a stirring of unease. Was it really acceptable to sell Isabella to this man? But his finer brotherly feelings were soon quashed by the thought of the future this money would buy him. "And Isabella?" he inquired, regret rapidly fading, "What does she get out of all this?"

Thornton sighed impatiently. "Isabella gets a husband who can provide for her – she will have money, position, security. Isn't that what every brother wants for their sister?" It was true, Guy thought. Marriage to Thornton was Isabella's best chance for a better future. As head of the Gisborne household, it was his duty to provide for her. And if he furthered himself in the process, who would care?

"Eight hundred crowns," he bargained sharply.

"Seven hundred and fifty."

"Seven hundred and seventy-five."

"Done."

Thornton grasped Guy's hand firmly and rose. "You'd make a wily merchant, Gisborne. I'll leave you to give your sister the good news. Good day." And with that, he swept out, straightening his cloak as he did so. Guy soon followed. Isabella met him outside, still chewing a meat pie and chattering inanely.

*

She cried when he told her. Hatred characterised every word she spoke and every glance she gave him. Guy dreaded to think what she would do if she heard about the money. It was not something she would understand, foolish girl as she was.

"Isabella, Squire Thornton can provide for you much better than I ever could. This is your only chance for a halfway decent existence – or do you want to spend the rest of your life in this God-forsaken corner of France?" Guy snapped, finally losing his already frayed temper.

"No," she replied in a tiny voice. "You promise he is a good man?" Guy sighed and knelt down by the chair his sister had thrown herself into. "Yes," he lied smoothly. Whether or not he was speaking the truth wasn't important – at least not to him. The lie was easy to tell when he thought of the seven hundred and seventy-five crowns and the bright future they would buy him. His sister's future was no longer his concern. _Aurum potestas est, little sister_, Guy told her silently as he left the room. _Gold is power._


	3. A Grieving Angel

**Cast of Characters**

**Sir Guy of Gisborne – **Everyone's favourite anti-hero!

**Sheriff Vasey of Nottingham – **Said anti-hero's irritating employer

**Lady Marian of Knighton – **Feisty nobleman's daughter

**Sir Edward of Knighton – **Said nobleman, former Sheriff of Nottingham

**Year:** 1188

**Setting:** Knighton Hall

**Scenario:** Guy's first meeting with Marian

Rain poured down around Guy of Gisborne, sinking into his leather coat and sluicing back his short dark hair. His horse was as dark and as wet as his locks, he observed, as he bent his head over his saddle. Not for the first time during the ride, Guy turned his head with a muttered curse towards the carriage where his master, Sheriff Vasey of Nottingham, reclined easily. When he had joined the Sheriff's employ a few weeks ago, this was not what he had expected. As his lieutenant, Guy thought he deserved a seat in the carriage too, not a wet saddle outside of it.

To his mind, this ride was not even necessary. Vasey was only coming to Knighton Hall to gloat over the old Sheriff, but he apparently needed his lieutenant and a whole company of castle guards to accompany him. Scowling, Guy guided his horse closer to the Sheriff's conveyance, at a signal from his master. "Cheer up, Gisborne! Knighton has a daughter – pretty little thing – keep her occupied, will you?" Vasey grinned carelessly. Inclining his head with a sigh, Guy replied, "Of course, my lord."

He had never really been interested in courting anyone, despite drawing women to him like bees to honey with his dark good looks. With any luck, this "pretty little thing" wouldn't be such a woman. Guy didn't know if he had the stomach to endure being fawned over by some brainless nobleman's daughter.

As they approached Knighton Hall, Guy noticed a young woman sitting under the roof's overhang, reading something. At first, all he could see was a mass of loose, curly chestnut hair, and a dress of light cream. But at the sound of the horses, she looked up and caught Guy's eye for the briefest of seconds. Gisborne felt like he was falling, drowning in the sparkles of green that were her eyes. He was having difficulty just staying in his saddle. She was beautiful – no, more than that...breathtaking.

"The, ah, pretty little thing, Gisborne. Lady Marian." Vasey's voice cut through Guy's thoughts like a knife, forcing him to return to the present moment. _Perhaps,_ he thought as he dismounted, _this ride wasn't such a waste of time after all_. When he turned towards the manor house again, dropping his reins into the hands of a nearby guard, he saw that the vision – Lady Marian – had gone. Vasey had entered the house already, and Guy hurried to catch up with him. Inside, Vasey was greeting the old Sheriff patronisingly. Guy hesitated, dripping rainwater, in the doorway.

A flash of cream from the stairs – Guy looked up to see Lady Marian descending gracefully, carrying an armful of linen drying cloths. Stopping before Guy, she thrust one abruptly into his arms. "Your men should wait in the stables until it stops raining. I'll take them some drying cloths." Her voice was so beautiful that she was halfway out the door before Guy could make any sense of what she was saying to him. But it had an undercurrent of sadness in it that intrigued Guy...

"And this is Gisborne, Sir Guy of Gisborne – my lieutenant. Gisborne, meet Edward of Knighton, the **former** Sheriff of Nottingham," Vasey said briskly. Guy shook hands with the older man, and Edward said stiffly, "You are welcome, Sir Guy."

"Thank you, Sir Edward," Guy replied, wishing he had more knowledge of elegant conversation. They proceeded through to the sitting room, Guy still towelling off his soaking hair, and sat down. The door opened quietly, and Lady Marian appeared again. She sat down without a word in the corner, and took up what seemed to be some sort of embroidery. "I must apologise for my daughter, gentlemen. She is a little – out of spirits – at present. Her fiancée, Robin of Locksley, left for the Holy Land a few months ago, to fight for the King," Sir Edward explained.

At this Marian looked up. She was frowning and her tone was like acid when she spoke. "Father, please stop referring to him as my fiancée. _**That**_ arrangement was ended when he felt the need to go and fight a war halfway across the world." Guy too frowned in irritation. He'd had the misfortune to grow up with Robin of Locksley. _And he was an arrogant scumbag as a child too – never knowing the value of what he had_, Guy thought to himself in annoyance. If he, Guy, had been engaged to Lady Marian, not even the King himself would have dragged him away from her.

"Locksley? That's a coincidence – Gisborne will be taking care of Locksley's lands for him whilst he's off playing soldiers," the Sheriff informed Edward and Marian. The latter's head shot up from her embroidery once more. "But Robin left those lands to my father's care!" She sounded extremely disapproving. "Ah, yes. Change of plan, my lady. Had to find something to keep Gisborne occupied." At this, Marian's eyes flickered to Guy, filling with distaste as they did so. Guy couldn't really blame her – the way the Sheriff had put it, he sounded like an ignorant child who had to be kept out of mischief.

"No objections, Knighton?" Vasey asked Edward, staring at him threateningly. Marian's eyes bored into the back of her father's head, and Guy copied her. Edward seemed to be undergoing some sort of internal struggle for a minute or so, then his shoulders slumped and he murmured, "No objections." Guy glanced at Marian, and caught a look of extreme contempt and disappointment on her glorious face. She rose abruptly. "Excuse me," she said, quite clearly, and swept out of the room.

Fascinated by her, Guy rose too. "I will see if she is alright," he promised Marian's father. Leaving the room, Guy felt Vasey's eyes on him – for once, Guy did not care whether he approved or not. He stopped in the hallway, and looked out through the now-open front door. Lady Marian was standing once more under the overhang, with her back to him. The rain had stopped now, and Guy soon ventured out to stand shyly next to her. "I don't think we were formally introduced, my lady. I am –," Guy began stiffly, but Marian turned swiftly to him and cut him off with, "Sir Guy of Gisborne. Your guard told me. If you don't mind, Sir Guy, I would much prefer to be left alone."

Taken aback, Guy hesitated. He had never been spoken to so frankly – at least not by a woman. He wasn't sure he liked it. Marian had pointedly turned away again, and when she did not repeat her request, he settled himself against the doorpost. At close quarters, he could see that she was quite tall, and slender – perhaps too slender. Her dress hung loosely on her, as though she had lost a lot of weight in a short space of time. Clearly Locksley's departure had affected the lady more than she was admitting.

Again, he felt a stab of fury against Robin of Locksley. How dare he leave this angel? This angel, who was still grieving for him months after he had departed, who even now (Guy suddenly noticed) was crying for him, her tears glittering in the weak winter sun that had now appeared. Guy moved forwards, drawing out his handkerchief for her, longing to wipe the tears away himself and stop her from ever weeping again. She gave him an odd look as he offered it to her, and apologised, "I'm not very good company, I'm afraid, Sir Guy."

Guy shook his head – to just stand next to her and gaze upon her fair face was more pleasure than he had felt in a long time – and replied, "Not at all, my lady. Perhaps you and your father would honour me with a visit at Locksley soon." Lady Marian glanced at him, and said quietly, "I hardly think you should be inviting people to a house that is not even yours, Sir Guy." She had caught him off balance again, Guy realised, as he took in her words. Clearly she had realised it too, for she smiled slightly as she surveyed the windswept yard before them. He would have said something more to her, pointed out that the lands were under his stewardship, had Vasey's shout for his lieutenant not interrupted him.

"Gisborne! Come on – I want to get back to Nottingham before it starts raining again!"

"You should go – your master's calling for you," Lady Marian commented. The slight inflection she placed on the word "master" irritated Guy slightly – almost as if she had suggested he was some sort of servant - but he bowed politely anyway and went to mount his horse. He would accept any harsh comment from her, he realised, just to hear that voice.

As they rode away, Guy looked back, once, twice, three times. Each time he did, he caught a glimpse of Marian, her image slowly becoming more unfocused by the distance. She was not smiling. _But she will_, Guy promised himself,_ she will._


	4. To Kill a King

**Probably should have said this at the start, but I own nothing - all credit to the creators of BBC Robin Hood!**

**Cast of Characters**

**Sir Guy of Gisborne – **Potential regicide and antihero

**Sheriff Vasey of Nottingham – **Ambitious employer of the above

**King Richard of England – **Monarch; very deep sleeper

**Robin of Locksley –** Commander of the King's private guard; a not-so-deep sleeper

**Year:** 1191

**Setting:** King Richard's camp, Acre, the Holy Land

**Scenario:** Guy's first attempt at killing Richard

"_Gisborne, this mission is the most important thing you will ever do. Succeed, and you will want for nothing. Our... exalted friend... will welcome you back as a hero. You will be a man of substance, Gisborne, a man of power." _

The Sheriff's voice sounded clear through the intervening months, strengthening Guy of Gisborne's resolve as he entered Richard's tent. Inside, flimsy though the material was, the sound of battle was muffled. Guy drew his sword silently, confident in its keenness, and stepped forwards. The King lay asleep on his back, his face perfectly calm and still.

Guy took a breath. There was always this moment, a split second before a kill, where the whole world shrank down to that breath, when time slowed and all sound, all senses, all feelings were dimmed. It was the closest Guy ever came to peace. The sword rose up, high over his head and... Guy hesitated. For some inexplicable reason, Guy suddenly remembered something his long-dead father had once told him: _"All men who kill in the dark, away from witnesses, are cowards. If you must kill, Guy, let it be preceded by an honourable fight. Do not shame me."_

Beneath his dark Saracen costume, Guy's eyes showed a flicker of uncertainty. And then the world erupted. "Your Majesty! Wake up! Saracen attack!" The man who burst into the tent was younger than Guy, garbed in a Crusader's white and red tunic that had obviously been slept in. He knocked Guy's sword away furiously and Guy caught a glimpse of his face. Shock coursed through his body. Robin of Locksley. It had been seventeen years since they had seen each other last, but Guy would have know that face, filled with youthful, fearless arrogance, even without the help of the artist's drawing Marian believed she had kept hidden from all, beneath a floorboard at Knighton Hall. So this was the man Marian had once been engaged to. The man who, despite all her pretences of indifference, Guy was sure she still loved. Still as dislikeable as ever.

But Guy had no time to think about this development any further. Locksley attacked relentlessly, his curved Saracen scimitar flashing silver in the dimly lit tent. Guy was defending now, instead of attacking, fighting for his life as he had never fought before. A mad thought flashed through his brain – if he didn't return alive, then Marian would know he had lied to her, lied when the message had been sent out from Locksley Manor that he was gravely ill. Locksley's blade whipped down suddenly, too fast to block, and sliced into Guy's right arm, carving deep into the wolf tattoo that was emblazoned across the flesh.

Guy let out a cry of pain and slashed blindly at the tent wall, cutting himself a way out. He emerged at the back of the camp, disoriented and mad with agony. Blood dripped from his cut sleeve. He had failed. Perhaps he should return to the King's tent, and let the loyal Crusaders deal with him. At least his death would be swift – Locksley didn't have the brains to kill anyone slowly. Insulting his enemy seemed to help him forget the pain, so Guy continued this as he sprinted towards the oasis where the assassins had left their horses.

*

"The attempt was unsuccessful, my lord." Six words, spoken without emotion, a few months later. Six words that would stay with Guy for the rest of his life. The cut in Guy's arm stayed too. It served as a brand, a reminder of what happened when emotion, humanity, weakness interfered. Unthinking, unquestioning obedience. That was what was required of a man in his position.

**Thank you to all the people who reviewed the last three chapters - you know who you are!! Hope you enjoyed this chapter - please review again!**


	5. Old Enemies

**Cast of Characters**

**Guy of Gisborne – **Antihero and Robin of Locksley's childhood enemy

**Robin of Locksley – **Guy's worst nightmare

**Year:** 1192

**Setting:** Guy's chambers at Locksley Manor

**Scenario:** Guy's thoughts as he packs for his return to Nottingham when Robin returns

Guy was flushed with humiliation as he reached his chambers. The day that he had dreaded for years had finally arrived – Locksley had returned. And once again, Guy of Gisborne was homeless. Landless. Effectively penniless, and, worst of all, powerless. Ever since the time of his parents' deaths, Guy had despised that empty, lost, constricting feeling of helplessness, a feeling which was threatening to overwhelm him even at that moment.

Angrily, he began to open chests, throwing clothes into saddlebags, as he relived the past hour. It had been a normal enough morning. The Sheriff's lieutenant had merely been doing his duty – arresting some peasants for theft – and then Locksley had suddenly appeared, as if from nowhere – just as he had at their last meeting. Guy had barely been able to suppress a shudder at the sight of his enemy, and the scar on his arm (a souvenir from the Holy Land) had seemed to throb at the presence of its author.

This had been happening throughout their lives. As children, Guy had always been the one to take the punishments for Robin's misdemeanours, had always been the berated one, the disregarded one... As adults, still, their paths had been different. What had Guy had? Nothing. He'd been forced to work and fight and struggle for every chance life had ever offered him. Robin, on the other hand - Robin had had the manor, the estate, the privileged life, the love of Marian...

Guy growled out a curse between clenched teeth. Marian. With her former betrothed returned gloriously from the Holy Land, the little attention she had paid him would dry up, he knew. Fate always picked him to be the loser, the inferior one... He hadn't even dared sleep in the master bedchamber, instead choosing a smaller, less obviously grand room. Robin's spirit had seemed to haunt it, challenging Guy to masquerade as lord of manor. For, Guy realised, that was all it had been – a masquerade, a child playing with his father's sword, pretending to be a man.

His mouth twisted bitterly and he buckled the last saddlebag. Suddenly, he couldn't wait to leave. Let Locksley enjoy his privilege while it lasted. For Guy, it was tainted; just it had probably been all along. Tainted with the memory of old enemies and older jealousies.


	6. An Early Ride

**Cast of Characters**

**Sir Guy of Gisborne –** Anti-hero and father

**Seth –** Illegitimate son of the above

**A Guard –** Rather self-explanatory; Sir Guy's helping hand

**Year:** 1192

**Setting:** Sherwood Forest

**Scenario:** Guy's abandonment of Seth... with a twist

Sherwood Forest was completely deserted as Guy of Gisborne rode along one of its many tracks. It was only just dawn, and a rosy glow was beginning to tug at the small patches of sky that were visible through the dark foliage overhead. But Guy, absorbed in his own thoughts, was far too preoccupied to notice the beauties of nature. His preoccupation concerned several things – the look on Annie's face as he'd left her that morning, the slow trickle of a single tear down her smooth cheek, and, of course, the weight of the small bundle in his muscular arms.

His son. Seth. When Annie had first told him, it had seemed impossible. If Annie had been different, perhaps Guy would have questioned his involvement, but the foolish girl was completely besotted with him. The babe was undoubtedly Guy's. A frown creased his face and he glanced down at the blanket-wrapped child, still slumbering peacefully in his arms. Guy hadn't wanted this child, hadn't even wanted Annie, really. She had been a dalliance, merely a way of passing the time until Marian gave into his courtship – but the girl actually seemed to _like_ him, and that was the puzzle.

Guy wasn't used to being liked. Feared, yes, and hated, but never _liked_. He still wasn't sure how to react when Annie hugged him, or smiled at some comment he'd made... Guy straightened his shoulders. Of course, the affair could not continue – he could not risk a second child. Annie believed he was taking the child to Kirklees Abbey – which he was, in a way. Obviously Sir Guy of Gisborne could not be seen carrying a child to the Abbey gates – gossip mongers lived off such tales – but no one would think twice if a poor man and his wife, already overburdened with offspring, were to deposit a child with the religious order, courtesy of their well-born master...

The foliage above became sparser, and finally Guy emerged into the clearing where his first transaction of the day would take place. One of his men-at-arms waited there, dressed in plain clothing, and he sprang to attention at the sight of his approaching master. Guy dismounted deftly, cradling the child in the crook of his right arm. Unfortunately, the sudden movement woke it, and a tired whimper split the air.

Unsure of what to do, Guy awkwardly pushed the blanket aside and carefully, soothingly, stroked the child's forehead, as he had seen Annie do. The baby fell silent and reached up a tiny hand to clasp his father's finger. The strength of the grip surprised Guy and he chanced another look at Seth. Annie had been right, he realised – the child resembled him as strongly as she had said. A small tuft of dark hair, the same long straight nose and smoothly curved ears... And his eyes, too, icy blue, but filled with a strange, trusting innocence. A slight smile curved Guy's usually severe mouth. For the first time he looked upon Seth not as a mistake, but as his firstborn, his son, his child.

The moment passed, and Guy handed the bundle over to the waiting guard. Then, his hands free, he unhooked a heavy-looking purse from his leather belt. "This for the Abbess of Kirklees, for the care of the child. More will be sent next month," Guy stated in clipped tones. Another, smaller, purse followed. "And this for your time and your silence." The guard reached out to grasp it greedily, but Guy raised a finger in warning. "If anything happens to the babe, or if I find you've cheated me in any way – I swear, you will die the most painful death I can imagine. Disloyalty... _displeases_ me," Guy explained, his voice barely audible. The guard swallowed and nodded his promise. Guy dropped the purse on the ground and turned. A few paces away, he stopped. "You will report to me when the child has been delivered safely," he ordered coolly. Without waiting for a reply, he swung himself up into the saddle.

The guard watched until his master had ridden away down the track and out of view. Then he mockingly bowed, chuckling softly. With the coin he now possessed, there was no need to report to Sir Guy ever again. Still chuckling, the man swiftly tucked the child under a bush and turned to his own mount. A woodsman or peasant would find the babe, and by the time Sir Guy found anything amiss, he himself would be far away from Nottinghamshire and his wrath.

It had been a most profitable early ride.


End file.
